


coffee and cigarettes are my only escape

by gracelinne



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, M/M, aw look eposette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:43:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracelinne/pseuds/gracelinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eponine is partly drunk but mostly sad, and Cosette is tall and blonde and sinfully kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee and cigarettes are my only escape

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay so this has taken me OVER A MONTH to write and there have been a fair amount of tears over it. I want to thank Grazia for putting up with my constant facebook messages that usually consist of something like this: “UGH I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO WRITE HELP ME PLEASE”. I’d also like to mention that all of Eponine’s feelings and opinions on being shorter than everyone are credited to Laura, who knows better than I the woes of being small. There are also a fair amount of spoilers in this for Paper Towns and The Fault in Our Stars, both by John Green, Fury by Elizabeth Miles, The Fall (2006 film), and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller.

It’s three o’clock in the morning and Eponine has no idea how she has let her life get this out of control.  She’s sitting on the curb by the river, a bottle of whiskey half empty in her right hand and her phone in her left.  Her hair is a mess and she’s partly drunk but mostly sad and it’s going to rain, which is just the icing on the fucking cake.  

She wonders how long it would take to drown.

And yeah, it’s starting to rain.  Perfect.  She takes a swig of her whiskey, grimacing as it burns its way down her throat, and stands, unsteady even in her thick-soled combat boots.  

The rain is coming down hard now, so she puts the bottle on the curb and walks down the street, trying to find a place that’s close enough so she can be warm.  Ish.

She walks for ten minutes until she sees a light spilling out onto the pavement, warm and yellow, and the rain has halfway sobered her up, which is unacceptable.  It turns out to be a 24-hour café called the Musain with a rosy gold espresso machine behind the counter and an impressive display of pastries in a glass-front counter.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like they’re the kind of place to serve alcohol, so Eponine goes to the counter and orders a raspberry-hibiscus tea with one sugar.  It sounds warm, at least, and if it’s gross she can stomach enough to justify buying it and then call Grantaire.  She should’ve just called him in the first place, but here she is, wet and cold in a café at three am.

The boy behind the counter is fumbling and awkward, trying to be overly polite when it’s clear he just wants to go to bed.  She watches him overtly as he wipes down the counter and tables -- he’s vaguely Irish looking, with reddish brown hair and freckles everywhere.  He catches her staring and flushes bright red, knocking into a table as he rushes to hurry back behind the counter.

She smirks.  An hour passes, and she stays in her window seat, curled on the comfortable couch in her stocking feet so she looks even smaller than she actually is (she stands proudly at five foot one).  Freckles trades shifts with someone wrapped in a black raincoat and the rain keeps pounding the cobbled street outside.  

“Excuse me?”  The voice is kind, and Eponine looks around, startled.  The girl standing there is tall, maybe five foot eleven, and her blonde hair is twisted into an intricate braid that drapes delicately over her right shoulder.  “I’m sorry to startle you, but would you like anything else?  You’ve been staring out this window with an empty mug in your hands for forty-five minutes.”

Eponine looks down at her mug, mildly surprised to find it empty.  Huh.

“Uh, yeah, sure.  What would you suggest?”  She doesn’t want anything else, but she doesn’t want to go back into the rain, either, and to go back outside is to go back to her empty, empty flat.  The blonde girl smiles.

“Well, our white chocolate mocha is pretty good, if you like that sort of thing,” she says, tapping her pen against a pad of paper in her hand.

“Um.  Yeah, I’ll have one of those, I guess,” Eponine says, smiling up at the girl.  

“Great.  Can I have your name for that?”  Her pen is poised over the paper, waiting.

“Eponine.”  The girl smiles widely and walks away to the counter, and Eponine groans because not only is this girl gorgeous but she also manages to smile at four-thirty in the morning.  

She calls out Eponine’s name about five minutes later.  The mocha is delicious.

Various customers straggle in as Eponine watches -- zombic businessmen, their eyelids drooping, or middle-aged women off to a yoga class.  Five o’clock is never a good time to be awake.

Except for the young man who has just bounded through the door, curly black hair damp from the rain.  He shakes it out like a puppy and bounces over to the counter, where the blond girl is still standing.

“Cosette!” he says jubilantly, holding his arms open for a hug.  The girl, Cosette, laughs and walks around the counter to hug him.

“You’re in early, Courf,” she says, hopping up onto the counter to sit.  He shrugs, sitting next to her.  

“I wanted to wish my favorite barista a happy birthday,” he tells her, kissing her on the cheek.  He hands her a brightly wrapped box, which she opens (without tearing the paper.  Impressive).

Eponine can’t see what’s in the box, but Cosette laughs again and ruffles his hair.  

She’s spotted, though, by Courf (nickname?).  He raises an eyebrow and then he’s coming over, slouching into the seat next to her and holding out his hand.

“I’m Courfeyrac,” he says.  His eyes are fixed on hers and they are very brown.

“Eponine,” she replies, shaking his hand.

“Are you the girl Grantaire talks about all the time?” Courfeyrac asks, a grin tugging on his lips.

“That would be me,” she admits, grinning back.  He’s cheerful on this shitty morning, and she’s glad for it.

 

She goes back to the Musain again that week, on a sunny day (it’s still cold as shit, but she has pockets).  Cosette isn’t there -- it’s a curly-haired woman with dark skin and green eyes who smiles widely when Eponine orders a white chocolate mocha and gives her the name of the order.

As she’s leaving with her coffee, a light-haired boy by the window compliments her hair and smiles at her, and she smiles back.  Her hair is rat’s nest today, like it has been since she turned sixteen and left home, but maybe the shoulder-length mess of dark curls doesn’t look as bad as it normally does.  

 

Grantaire invites her to a meeting of some activist group he’s been going to recently because apparently the leader is gorgeous.  She goes, if only because Grantaire is really excited, and it turns out the group meets at the Musain.

It’s warm and welcoming inside, and there are maybe twenty people there.  Eponine can hear laughter and clinking bottles, and she spots the fair-haired boy who commented on her hair.

“I know it’s a bit loud,” Grantaire says apologetically over the noise.  Eponine shakes her head, looking around.

“Nah, it’s fine,” she tells him, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her utility jacket.  It’s too big on her -- she stole it from Grantaire -- but it’s comfortable.

A red flash catches Eponine’s eye and she turns her head to follow it.  It’s a jacket, a coat the color of fresh blood.  The boy wearing it is one of the most beautiful people she’s ever seen, with fiery blue eyes and golden hair that curls gently around his face and behind his ears.  She turns back to Grantaire, who’s watching the blonde boy with a strange expression, something like annoyance mixed with fondness.  She raises her eyebrows.

“Grantaire?” she asks.  He turns to look at her, a dazed look in his eye.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, running a hand through his curls.  Eponine grins.

“So that’s your fearless leader?”  Grantaire’s cheeks redden and he looks away, eyes lighting up as he sees someone he knows.

“Courf!” he calls, raising a hand.  

“Hey, Grantaire.  Is this the friend you were telling us about?”  The boy hugs Grantaire and turns to Eponine, who recognizes him from the café.  

“Yeah, this is Eponine,” Grantaire tells him.  Eponine smiles and waves a little.

“Oh, I know you!  You were at the café the other day, right?” Courf asks, grinning at her.  She nods.  There’s a certain energy to the air, like everyone is excited for something big, and she finds out what it is when the blonde boy in the red jacket steps onto a table.

“If you could pay attention for two seconds, that would be great,” he tells the room at large, eyes landing on Grantaire and Eponine.  His mouth turns up ever so slightly at the corners.  “Okay, so what’s happened recently is essentially just that we have a permit for a rally on school grounds -- remember, Grantaire’s doing posters, so if you have any questions or want to help, go talk to him.”  Eponine looks at Grantaire, surprised.

“You didn’t tell me you were doing posters for this,” she whispers, grinning.  “Blondie’s totally got you whipped.”

“His name is Enjolras,” Grantaire mutters, watching Blondie -- Enjolras -- jump down from the table.  Eponine laughs, and through the crowd she can see the tall blonde girl, Cosette, leaning against the counter, arms crossed and watching Enjolras.  Her heart sinks a little when Enjolras hugs Cosette, but she’s not exactly sure why -- she only met this girl the other day.  

Grantaire seems to be generally well-liked by the group, especially by Courfeyrac, who keeps coming over with different people.  Their names start to blend together after the third one, but Courf just keeps them coming.

“This is my boyfriend, Combeferre.”  Combeferre is tall and whip-thin, with messy brown hair and glasses.  He’s wearing a cardigan with elbow patches, and Eponine wonders how he puts up with Courfeyrac.  

“Is that the chemical structure of dopamine?” Eponine interrupts, pointing at Combeferre’s wrist, where inked lines are peeking from under his cardigan sleeve.  He looks up at her, and she notices that his hazel eyes have that glazed look Grantaire gets after he’s been painting for awhile and is suddenly wrenched back into the real world.  

“Yeah, it is,” he says, grinning at her.  She smiles back and shrugs off her utility jacket, showing him her shoulder.

“Isn’t that adrenaline’s structure?” he asks, tracing the lines of her tattoo.  

“Yeah.  I’m a bio major, so.” She pulls her jacket back on and turns back around to face Combeferre.

“Yeah?  I’m a biochem major.  Do you have Grannis?” he asks.  Eponine nods.  

“I’m actually in her eight o’clock bio class next semester,” she tells him.  Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters under his breath.  Combeferre ruffles his hair, smiling.

“I’m in that class too.  Maybe we could do our homework together.  It’d help to have someone who knows what they’re doing because I’m mostly used to neural pathways.”  Eponine laughs.

“‘Course.”

The conversation ends abruptly when Courfeyrac sees someone across the room and drags Combeferre away.  

“So,” Eponine says to Grantaire, “am I ever going to meet this god of a man who has somehow gotten you interested in -- of all things -- politics?”  Grantaire groans.

“Fine,” he grumbles, taking Eponine’s hand and dragging her towards where Enjolras and Cosette are standing, both slouched against the counter.  

“Eponine, this is Enjolras, our fearless leader, and this is his twin sister, Cosette,” Grantaire says, a note of long-suffering in his voice.  Of course they were twins, both of them were inhumanly stunning.  Eponine smiles at them.

“Oh hey, you came into the café on Monday, didn’t you?  You got the white chocolate mocha,” Cosette says, grinning.  Jesus, she’s tall.  Enjolras offers his hand to Eponine.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.  Grantaire talks about you _all the time_.  I think at this point I could probably recite your favorite foods from ages six to eighteen,” he says, casting Grantaire a joking look.  Grantaire clears his throat.

“I don’t talk about her that much,” he says defensively.  Cosette laughs.

“No, I know you don’t.  Anyway, Eponine, it’s nice to actually meet you,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ear.  Eponine is completely and totally fucked.

 

“Fuck biology and everything that made me decide to be a bio major,” Eponine says into her notes.  She’s got her face buried in papers and note sheets, a pen clutched in her fingers and ink smeared across her nose.  Combeferre’s house is silent at two in the morning, but they both know Courfeyrac is still up, prepping for a quiz.

“How in the world is this relevant,” Combeferre whines.  His hair is ruffled and he’s got dark circles under his eyes.  The door to the kitchen opens and Courfeyrac comes through, holding two mugs of coffee.  

“You are an actual god,” Eponine whispers reverently, grabbing one of the coffees.  “This bio course is fucking _brutal_.”  Combeferre nods, looking shell-shocked.  He takes his coffee from Courf and kisses him, pulling away after a few seconds.  

The notes that are strewn across the table are for the bio test next class, and neither of them are ready.  Turns out Ms Grannis, the professor of the class, gives five to ten-page exams.  It’s only the third week of the semester and Eponine is dying, actually dying, and she has a dissertation due in her creative lit class next week.

“Nnnnnnooooooooooo,” Eponine cries softly, sliding bonelessly off her chair, “nnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooo.”  Combeferre looks down at her on the floor.  

“If you want to stay there I can bring you a blanket.  I think we’ve done enough cramming for one night,” he says, and Eponine could _kiss_ him but she doesn’t because she is so very very gay.  She curls in on herself and it doesn’t even matter that there’s no pillow because she’s fairly sure Combeferre’s fallen asleep on top of all their careful notes.

She must fall asleep after that, because when she opens her eyes there’s a blanket draped over her and a pillow under her head and people are talking in the living room.  There’s a foul taste in her mouth, and there’s sun shining through the curtains.  Her head throbs a little.

“Yuck,” she mutters to herself, standing up and licking her lips.  Her mug of coffee is still sitting, mostly full, on the table -- she picks it up and takes a sip.  It’s cold, but the bitterness shocks her back into real life.  

“You’re up!”  It’s a light-haired boy standing in front of her, his long hair braided.  

“Against my better judgement,” she replies, squinting against the sun.  “Who’re you?”

“Sorry,” he says, “my name’s Jehan.  We met at the Musain for Les Amis, I don’t know if you remember.”  Eponine does remember -- he had been one of the people Courfeyrac had introduced to her.  

“Yeah, I remember you.  You gave me a cookie, right?” Eponine asks, glancing over Jehan’s shoulder.  He nods enthusiastically.  

“It was a lavender sugar cookie.  Oh, um, Combeferre wanted to talk to you, I think.  He’s in the living room.”  Jehan leaves then, goes into the kitchen with his empty cup, and Eponine shuffles towards the living room, wrapping her blanket closer around her and taking another sip of her cold coffee.  

“I’m sorry I fell asleep under your table,” is the first thing Eponine says to Combeferre, who’s sitting next to Courfeyrac on the sofa.  He looks pretty wrecked, too.  She doubts he ever got into bed last night.

“Ehh, it’s okay.  I slept on the table,” he tells her.  “You met Enjolras and Cosette, right?”  He gestures to the couch across the room, where the aforementioned twins are sitting with mugs coffee.  Cosette waves.  

“Are you ready for your exam?” Enjolras asks, hands wrapped around his mug.  

“Not in the slightest,” Eponine says.  Cosette laughs.

“I heard Ms Grannis’s tests are tough,” she says sympathetically.  Combeferre answers,

“We haven’t had one yet, but we figured we’d better be prepared.”  

“Good plan,” Enjolras assures them, grinning.  Cosette makes a small noise into her coffee, like she’s just remembered something.

“Oh!  Eponine, by the way, Grantaire mentioned you like history, so I thought I’d lend you a book.  If you don’t like it or whatever, it’s fine, but I thought you might be interested.”  Cosette rummages in a slouchy blue bag on the floor and pulls out a medium-sized paperback book.

“ _The Song of Achilles_ ,” Eponine says, taking the book and glancing down at the blue and gold cover.  “Sounds good.  How can I get it back to you when I’m done?”  Cosette reaches into her bag again and pulls out a packet of Post-It notes.

“Have you got a pen?” she asks, and Combeferre throws her one (he had it behind his ear).  She scrawles something in messy, chicken-scratch writing, and then rips the Post-It off and sticks it to the inside cover of the book.  It reads:

_011 33 6 31 51 74 05_

_Let me know how you like the book!_

_Cosette xx_

“Thanks,” Eponine says gratefully, smiling at Cosette.  “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”  

“Don’t be sure.  That book will _ruin your life_ ,” Cosette warns, sipping her coffee.  

 

It’s dark out (about one-thirty in the morning) and Eponine is sobbing.  She’s curled up on her bed and trying not to wake Grantaire in his room across the hall, stifiling her sharp, short sobs into a tissue.   _The Song of Achilles_ is clutched in her left hand, held open to pages 368 and 369.  There are tear smudges on her oversized t-shirt.  

When she’s less hysterical, she puts down the book and picks up her phone.  She types in the number and adds the contact, then sends a text:

 **Eponine** : how could you make me read this volume of tears i’m actually going to kill you

To her surprise, her phone buzzes less than a minute after she’s sent the text.

 **Cosette** : i was literally waiting for this text

 **Cosette** : i am also assuming this is Eponine

 **Cosette** : to answer your question it killed me

 **Cosette** : and i really needed company

 **Eponine** : well it’s slaughtered me and now i’m dead

 **Cosette** : if you want you can lend me a book that will mortally wound me

 **Eponine** : oh i will just you wait

 **Cosette** : good luck

 

The next day there’s a meeting of Les Amis (which is apparently what the activist group is called) at the Musain.  Eponine shows up with _The Song of Achilles_ in her bag (complete with angrily worded Post-It note) and another book in her hand.  

“I’m so mad at you right now,” she informs Cosette, handing her the two books.  Cosette just laughs and takes them, opening up the cover of _Paper Towns_ , which is the novel Eponine has decided to lend her.  

“This won’t crush your soul and break your spirit but it will make you think,” Cosette reads from the green Post-It on the inside cover.  “Thanks,” she says to Eponine, standing up and hugging her.  Eponine can barely get her chin over Cosette’s shoulder, even though she’s bending down to be on Eponine’s level.  Tall people are the devil.  

 

 **Cosette** : wow

 **Cosette** : the way that book ended? cruel

 **Cosette** : not unsatisfying per say, but cruel

 **Eponine** : i just want another whole book of q and mango living forever happily

 **Eponine** : whoops, autocorrect

 **Eponine** : margo*

 **Cosette** : is it just me that pictured taylor swift as margo

 **Eponine** : intriguing concept

 **Eponine** : not a fan of her music but i can see it

 **Cosette** : i can’t talk to you anymore

 **Cosette** : how do you not like taylor swift

 

“I am having girl trouble,” says Eponine matter-of-factly to Courfeyrac.  He sits forward, putting his book down.  She’s upside-down on the couch, her hair brushing the light wood floor and a book open in her hands.  Courf looks interested, but not as fascinated as she would like him to.  She clears her throat dramatically.  “I _said_ ,” she declares loudly, “I am having _girl trouble_.”  Courf nods, looking at her almost pityingly.

“Does it have anything to do with that _utterly mindless_ piece of fiction you’ve got in your hands right now?” he asks her, raising his eyebrows.  “The one with the yellow sticky note from Cosette?”  She flushes and slides off the couch.

“Nah, ‘course not,” she mutters, sitting up.  

“Don’t be a filthy liar, Ep,” he sing-songs, picking up his book again.  Eponine groans.  

“This isn’t mindless fiction, by the way.  It’s good.  It’s about these Greek deities called the Furies who come to wreak havoc on this little town in Maine.  These characters are horrible people and _I love it_ ,” says Eponine, glancing down at her book again.  Courfeyrac nods.

“Well, okay then.  If you refuse to talk about this.”  Eponine sighs tragically, flopping backwards with her hand on her forehead, hissing through her teeth when the back of her skull collides with the floor with a _clunk_.

“I didn’t actually want to talk about it.  I just wanted you to pet my hair and give me hot beverages and tell me to get my head out of my ass.  Don’t make me actually talk about it,” Eponine complains.  Courf laughs.  

“Get your head out of your ass, Thenardier,” he says, and Eponine smiles up at him.

 

Cosette calls Eponine unexpectedly on Friday night just as Eponine is getting out ingredients to make Bananas Foster.  

“Hey,” Eponine says, balancing her phone between her shoulder and her cheek.  

“Can you come over and help me cut my hair?” is the first thing Cosette says.  

“Oh, um.  Yeah, sure.  Do you want me to bring a movie?” Eponine asks, a little shocked.

“Yeah.  What’ve you got?”  

“Uh . . . I have all eight Harry Potter movies, Now You See Me, The Fall, and Mulan.”  Cosette is silent for a moment, and then says,

“Bring The Fall.  That’s got Lee Pace in it and he’s always a good thing to watch.”  Eponine nods, tucks the DVD case under her arm, and says goodbye to Cosette, who tells her to bring a sharp pair of scissors as well.  She looks regretfully at her Bananas Foster ingredients, then tosses them all back in their rightful places (except the rum, which she puts in her purse).

Cosette and Enjolras live together in a spacious, airy, and suspiciously clean apartment.  The windows are huge and dark, and Eponine glances around as she enters the hallway.  The floors are varnished wood and they’re the most beautiful floors Eponine has ever laid eyes on.

“You’re here!” Cosette says, hurtling out of the kitchen.  She has her hair down around her shoulders and she’s wearing a tank top and pajama shorts.

“I’m here,” Eponine confirms, “and I brought alcoholic beverages.”  She holds up the rum and watches Cosette’s eyes light up.  

“Fantastic.  We can make pina coladas,” she says, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Do you want to cut your hair before or after we’re drunk?  I feel like before would be a better idea,” says Eponine cautiously, putting the rum on the sideboard.  Cosette nods.

“You’re probably right.  Here, follow me.  I’ve got everything all set up.”  She leads Eponine down another hall, passing an ajar door through which Enjolras is visible.  He waves.  Eventually they arrive in a bright, sterile bathroom, where a chair is set up with a towel draped across the back.  Eponine places the scissors she’d brought on the counter, glancing briefly at the huge mirror across from the bathtub and above the sink.

“What do you want me to do to your hair?” she asks Cosette, who is sitting down in the chair and arranging the towel so it covers her front.

“I was thinking heavy bangs,” Cosette replies, checking her hair in the mirror.  Eponine nods.

“Okay, awesome.  How long do you want them?  Like . . . here, maybe?” Eponine asks, her finger on Cosette’s eyebrow.  Cosette nods, and Eponine grins, picking up the fine-toothed comb by the sink.

When Eponine makes the first cut, Cosette squeaks.  Eponine looks down at her, slightly worried that she’s hurt her, but Cosette’s eyes are just wide, watching the mirror with fascination.  Pretty soon Eponine is done, and she tells Cosette so.

“Oh my god,” Cosette whispers, standing up and leaning closer to the mirror, combing her fingers through her bangs.

“It looks really good,” Eponine says honestly, putting the scissors down.  “Do you want to show Enjolras?”  Cosette turns to her, a huge smile splitting her face, and nods.

Which is how Eponine ends up standing outside Enjolras’s door while Cosette goes in to borrow a textbook for a class she doesn’t even take.  Eponine can hear Enjolras squeak in surprise, and it’s the _exact sound_ that Cosette made earlier.  If she had ever doubted that they were twins for some strange reason, that one sound reassures her.

“You look like Taylor Swift!” he cries, standing up and combing through her bangs while Cosette laughs and Eponine watches from the door.  “It looks so good!”

Enjolras helps them make pina coladas after that, even bringing out his secret stash of maraschino cherries, and reheats some chicken marsala for them.  It’s only once they’re sitting on the couch with The Fall on the TV that he retreats back into his room, ruffling both of their hair and yawning.  

 

“Lee Pace is so pretty,” Cosette mumbles an hour later, as Lee Pace’s character, Roy Walker, convinces Alexandria to steal morphine for him.  Eponine nods distractedly.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Eponine sobs into Cosette’s shoulder.  Onscreen, Governor Odious is drowning the Red Bandit and Alexandria is crying and Roy is crying and Cosette can’t seem to breathe and she is clutching Eponine’s hand like it is the only thing that matters.

“Why did you make me watch this film,” Cosette wails, wiping her tears with her hand.  Eponine would answer, but she’s too busy crying.  

 

Enjolras finds them asleep two hours later, curled into each other so tightly that they could almost be one person.  He just smiles and drapes a blanket over them.

 

 **Eponine** : what

 **Eponine** : J.D.??! noooooo this isn’t okay with me

 **Eponine** : he and em were supposed to be together tho

 **Cosette** : i didn’t say it was a happy book

 **Eponine** : well no, it’s about death

 **Eponine** : but tbh i wanted to punch em in the face 90% of the time

 **Cosette** : yeah me too i just ran out of FANTASTIC books to lend you

 **Eponine** : i think i have one more

 

Eponine gives Cosette _The Fault in Our Stars_ the next day.  She raises her eyebrows as she reads the back cover and the note inside.

“This one’s a gift,” Eponine says.

“Another John Green book?” she asks, lips turned up at the corners.  Eponine shrugs.

“He’s a literary genius, what can I say.  But admittedly some of this dialogue makes me want to punch Augustus Waters in the face,” Eponine replies.  Cosette tilts her head to the side (she’s sitting down -- it’s the only way she can look up at Eponine).

“You want to punch a lot of people in the face,” she observes.  

“I want to punch stupid people in the face,” Eponine corrects, smiling.  Cosette nods.

“Fair enough,” Cosette says, pushing her hair behind her ear.  She’s worn it down today, and it falls over her shoulder like a curtain of fine, straight gossamer.

“Um, anyway, I’d better get to class.”  It’s almost one, and while her class doesn’t start until quarter after, she promised Combeferre she’d pick up a coffee for him.

“Okay.  I’ll let you know how I like this,” Cosette smiles, and Eponine feels her stomach twist nervously.  She waves, and then walks out the café door into the cool April afternoon.  The street is almost deserted save for a few teenage boys wearing snapbacks and neon basketball shoes.  They whistle as she walks by.  She flips them off, shoving her hands back into her pockets after.  The wind whips at her face, pulling her hair straight.

“Hey!”  There’s a shout from behind her and she turns around.  Cosette is running towards her, book in hand.  Her hair looks silver under the cloudy sky.  “You highlighted something in here.”  Eponine’s throat tightens, but she nods.

“Yeah, I did,” she says, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  Cosette is wearing these tiny silver drop earrings with a loop in them -- they’re distracting.  Cosette’s hair is blowing across her face, catching on her eyelashes.  Her bangs are mussed, like she’s run her fingers through them.  “Read it.”  Cosette looks at her for a second, and then raises the book and starts reading.

“I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you.”  She looks back at Eponine, eyes wide.

“I am,” says Eponine quietly through the wind, looking up at Cosette and hoping against hope that she’s not completely fucking everything up here, that Cosette will forgive and forget.

And then Cosette kisses her.  Eponine leans into it, goes up on her toes, and wraps her arms around Cosette’s shoulders, and Cosette is pulling her closer and why have they not done this before?  It’s a shock when Cosette pulls away, though, even when she threads her fingers through Eponine’s.

“What does this make us?” Cosette asks softly, cautiously.  Eponine shrugs and squeezes Cosette’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Eponine admits, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “But I’d like it to be something more.”  It sounds stupid in her head and even stupider as she says it, but Cosette grins.

“Me too,” she says, and then kisses Eponine again briefly.  

“I still have to go, you know that?” Eponine asks.  “I told Ferre I’d get him a coffee.”

“So come back to the café and get him a coffee,” Cosette says sensibly, “it’s like no one told you how to function.”

“I resent that,” says Eponine, laughing, but she follows Cosette back to the Musain, hands still linked.

 

It’s late afternoon now, almost evening.  The sky is dark gray and Eponine can hear thunder rumbling in the distance, the air hot and damp and close around her.  She likes June, likes when her hair sticks to her face in the humid air, likes how all her shoes feel too constricting.  She goes barefoot most of the time.  She’s barefoot now, as she sits quietly on an empty swingset in an empty playground, arms curled around the warm chains.

There’s a cool wind whipping through the playground now, making Eponine’s eyes water and her hair blow across her face.  It’s silent, and she watches the sky, watches the clouds move slowly, like they have somewhere to be but aren’t in any rush to get there.

The swing next to her shrieks as the links of the rusted chain scrape against each other.  Cosette has sat down, her long, long legs perfect in a pair of denim shorts.  Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her bangs grown out long enough now to look more like side bangs.  There are some fine blonde tendrils that aren’t quite long enough to be caught in the hair tie, curling slightly around her face and sticking to her neck.

“You okay?” she asks, scooping up a handful of woodchips and tossing them, one by one, onto the lucious green grass of the field ahead of them, made even brighter by the dark, dark sky.  Eponine doesn’t answer but instead starts kicking off the ground, bare toes just barely brushing the dull woodchips.

It feels like she could go around the top of the swingset if she wants to, but she doesn’t.  So she lets go, pushes off into thin air.  Her lungs don’t work anymore, but it’s okay because she’s actually flying this time, and there’s no one to stop her, no one to tell her no --

And then she hits the ground.  It’s jarring, knocks the air out of her, and then she’s on all fours with blood dampening her palms and tears dampening her cheeks.  And of course, this is when the rain comes, rushing down with the fury of an ocean, thunder reverberating in her bones.  She sits up on her knees, turns her face to the pounding of the rain, and lets herself get soaked.  The rain plasters her hair to her neck and her cheekbones and her shirt clings to her sides, and she feels so, so alive.  

She turns around, her eyes searching for Cosette, and she is standing there in all her beauty, tall and thin and her ponytail wet and dark, now.  She is so glad, so unendingly glad, that Cosette is patient and indulgent of her mood swings.  Cosette understands that sometime what she needs isn’t a hug or a kiss, but just someone to ask if she is okay.  And most of the time, she is.

 

When Eponine wakes up, she’s curled into Cosette and the covers are twisted around them.  Sun is pouring in through the windows, drenching the bed in warm golden light, puddling on Eponine’s skin and bleaching it to the color of tarnished bronze jewelry.  

“Morning,” says Cosette, stretching languidly.  Her hair is spread across her pillow like spun gold, caught in the early morning sun.  She opens her eyes, and Eponine is struck, once again, by how exactly Cosette’s gray eyes match the sky before it rains.

“It’s Saturday,” Eponine tells her.  Cosette smiles.

“Mm.  Are you going to make breakfast, or should I?”  Cosette is actually a goddess.

“Well, I’m not getting up,” Eponine says matter-of-factly.  
“Do you want Belgian waffles?” Cosette asks, rolling out of bed and standing up.  Her hair brushes the elastic waistband of her pajama shorts.

“Yeah.  I’ll go get coffee if you want,” Eponine offers, sitting up and wrapping herself in the comforter.

“Okay.  Marius is working today, so if you end up going to the Musain, just make sure he knows one of the coffees is for me.  He knows how I like it.”  Eponine nods, getting out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom.  

“Love you,” she calls out as Cosette opens the door to the hallway.  

“Love you too,” Cosette says back, walking out the door.  Eponine grins.

 

 


End file.
